Draco Malfoy and the Conspicuous Denial
by D'autrefois
Summary: A tale in which Draco Malfoy will adamantly tell you that he was most definitely not staring at Hermione Granger and her pink dress that night at the Yule Ball. That would be laughable, he'll say. She's laughable, he'll say. Meanwhile, he's the only one not in on the joke. Fourth Year. One-shot. D/Hm.


**Draco Malfoy and the Conspicuous Denial  
**

 _'Butterfly wings,'_ I thought. _'They looked like butterfly wings.'_

When I saw Granger appear at the top of the grand staircase, I couldn't keep the sneer off my face, and I didn't try to. It's not like I looked up on purpose. I'd have rather not. But, when everyone in the bloody room stopped what they were doing like the Queen graced us with her royal presence, it was hard not to take pause.

She had done something to her hair, I realised. Somehow it wasn't mimicking a wild hippogriff nest like it had earlier that day, a feat that truly amazed me. She cleaned up. Perhaps not nicely, but she cleaned up. Something else was different about her besides her hair, though I couldn't quite figure it out. The fact that her nose wasn't stuck in some dusty old tome might have had something to do with it, or perhaps it was the grace she seemed to have pulled out of thin air. Normally she had as much charm as a flobberworm, and so I was waiting with bated breath to see if she'd trip over her own two feet without me casting a Jelly-leg Curse.

"Close your gob, unless you actually want to catch flies," Pansy said as her manicured fingers pressed under my chin.

I swatted her hand away and spat, "Piss off", flushing so slightly that only someone who was around me as much as she was would notice. I was not staring. That would be ludicrous beyond measure.

Granger reminded me of a muggle story I'd heard of, which was fitting, because considering her muddy blood, she might know it better than I did. Even the professors stopped what they were doing to watch Gryffindora enter the Yule Ball in all her magical glory. Every clink of her charcoal heels made the thin pink material of her dress flutter on her shoulders, like wings. I thought they were somewhat pretty. And so naturally, I wanted to rip them off.

My reproach from earlier only made Pansy cling to my arm that much more, much to my dismay. Her flowery perfume smacked me in the nose so hard I thought I'd choke. What's with the trend of using an entire bottle at once? The room was a mess of nervous looking teenagers fidgeting with buttons and shirt sleeves, and it seemed like everyone thought it best to stink up the place as much as possible. Pansy fit right in.

She was my apparent date to this hyped-up soirée and there wasn't much I could do for it. I couldn't quite recall saying yes to her but then again, if I had said no, it wasn't as if she'd listen. The barmy bint was beaming at my side, all too pleased to be seen together and perpetuate the narrative that we were dating and well on our way to populating the Wizarding World with little pig-faced spawn. No one was focusing on us too much at the moment despite her efforts. No, this moment belonged to Granger and her toothy, rosy face.

 _'Did she put her lipstick on in the dark?'_ I wondered, scowling in irritation. Nothing was wrong with it, of course. Pansy was just as clowned-up, if not more. I just thought she was taking too long to make her entrance and the sooner she finished, the sooner I could get back to pretending I wanted to be there. Ask Zabini, or Nott, and you'd hear that I was over all the pomp and circumstance consuming the school since before the First Task. _Triwizard_ this and _Victor_ that. I'd been going on about it for as long as it's been going on, so much so that Pansy thought we ought to switch names since hers fits so nicely with my constant "whinging". Even that very second, I still couldn't fathom why Hogwarts had _two_ participants, one the same age as me no less, and yet _I_ wasn't chosen. Nonsense, all of it.

Whilst Granger was looking around the room, probably for the rest of her insufferable Trio, we made eye contact. Her smile flickered, but she didn't stumble. I found it humorous when she swept her panic-stricken gaze elsewhere.

Four years later and I still got under her skin.

I smirked.

As much as she was dreading it, she was nearing me. The only way forward was down and I was more than willing to welcome the belle of the ball.

Just before I could open my "gob" and say something particularly nasty, Prince Charming came from left pitch and took all my fun when he brought the Mudblood's hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, making her already rouged cheeks even redder.

"Disgusting," I scoffed.

"Isn't it?" Pansy replied.

I turned away just in time to see Weasel roll his eyes at the blushing pair. Padma Patil was glowering at him, having failed to get his attention away from Granger and towards her, his actual date. I looked on, ever pleased to witness the beginnings of a spat.

"Looks like trouble in paradise," Pansy said, nodding towards the fuming redhead.

"Good. Saved me a lot of work."

Viktor Krum lead Granger off to only Merlin knew where and for some reason the collar of my shirt felt like it was suffocating me. I tucked a finger under the stiff material and readjusted my cravat.

It was as good a time as ever for goulash and stew. Dinner was uneventful, unless the highlight of the evening was Crabbe belly-aching about the massive Transfiguration essay due after break, which he of course hadn't started.

The Great Hall was frosted in winter décor, with crystals clinging to the delicate table cloths and ice sculptures wafting mist into the already chilled air. Pine trees covered in enchanted snow and melting candles lined every silvery curtain-draped wall but despite all the glitter and gimmicky rubbish twinkling in the room during the opening dance, nothing sparkled as bright as Granger did as she waltz with Krum. It was near blinding. She looked only slightly less foolish than Potty, who was shuffling about on two left feet and generally making a fool of himself as usual.

Dumbledore took McGonagall's hand and lead her to the floor. I looked at him and his jovially swinging beard rather briefly, swallowing a lump that formed in my throat. That half-breed Hagrid and Madame Maxine from Beauxbatons made enough of a spectacle of themselves that they distracted me from the Headmaster that Father muttered about so much lately. Professor Snape stood off to the side, sullen. I'd come to believe that his face rested in that position naturally since he could do nothing but bear everyone else's stupidity.

"Ask me to dance," Pansy asserted.

"No," I said, not taking my eyes off the Champions and their dates. Granger hadn't tripped yet, but it was coming. I didn't want to miss it. "You invited yourself, remember?"

"Perhaps. Dance with me anyway."

I shot her a dirty look and she responded by pouting and fluttering her lashes in a decidedly dramatic fashion. Anyone looking on would think she was just being herself, but I knew her long enough that the performance wrestled a smile out of me. As much as I slag off on her, she was my closest friend. Well, as close as two crafty Slytherins could possibly be.

We swept on the floor on the upbeat of the music, with Pansy's elaborate purple gown curling around my feet with each careful step. We were hand-in-hand, and in perfect time. Other couples joined the festivities with a flourish of their own and soon the entire room was awash with coordinated movements and swirling colours.

I kept catching glimpses of Granger over Pansy's exposed shoulder, and I scowled because of it. I couldn't go a minute without seeing a flash of her simpering face or the tell-tale ruffles of that wispy dress.

"Will you be staring at her for the entire night?" Pansy inquired in midair whilst I spun her around. I caught a peek of pink silk.

"Who?"

Her feet scarcely touched the ground before we succumbed to the next eight-count.

"Granger."

"What?"

A dash of diamond sparkles.

"Granger."

"Where?"

A whisper of brown waves. My eyes narrowed darkly. ' _Granger'._

" _Draco_."

"I was not _staring,_ " I stressed a bit too loudly. I heard Pansy the first time, but Granger was laughing about something and I couldn't tell what it was. Where did she get off being so annoying? The both of them.

"Am not," Pansy said pointedly. We were still turning and spinning and making ourselves dizzy. Krum tossed the brunette in the air again and with those blasted wings, she soared. He'd drop her soon. I was sure of it.

Pansy's insufferable drawl interrupted me yet again when she said, "Am not staring."

"Have you gone mad? What are –"

"You should've said 'am not', because even now you still haven't looked at me."

My face snapped to Pansy's for the first time since the dance started to see a grin playing on her painted lips. It was the same look she had when Goyle was pantsed by Peeves and had squealing pygmy puffs on his briefs. Half the house was still in stitches about it. My eyes widened.

So what if I was looking? So what?

"You have to admit she looks absolutely ridiculous," I said by way of an excuse. I didn't need one though. Why would I? When had I ever? "What would the seeker of the Bulgarian National Quidditch team want with someone like her?"

I thought Pansy would agree with me, what with her love of gossip, so her reply took me by surprise.

"Does it bother you?" she whispered mischievously.

"No."

"Hmm."

I looped an arm around her waist so that the small of her back settled in the centre of my palm. Then I pulled her close, glaring.

"Say what you're trying to say, Parkinson," I dared her. I bloody dared her. She leaned in, breath hot against the shell of my ear.

"You fancy her, Malfoy," she said without missing a beat. I blanched. She was never one to back down from a challenge, after all.

I had the decency not to gape at her ridiculous, unfounded claim.

"I didn't think you'd be drunk already."

"I'm not drunk." She looked affronted that I'd suggest something so crass.

"Was not."

"What?"

"Was not drunk," I clarified. She blinked dumbly.

"That doesn't even make any sense."

"And neither do you."

I thought that would shut her up but her eyes were twinkling. She was still going on about it, even without talking.

My date had thankfully gone back to the Common Room right after I firmly refused to dance with her during the Weird Sisters' set. I could hardly look at her properly after she said... said that _lie_. That bald-faced lie that wasn't true in the slightest. I threw back the rest of my butterbeer and got up from the empty table, adjusting my dress robes with more anger than necessary. My hands were clammy, and I was still put off ( _'because where did that crazy bird get off even suggesting_ _–'_ ), when the actual highlight of my night played out right before me.

"Next time there's a ball, pluck up the courage to ask me before somebody else does, and not as a last resort!"

Granger was yelling. Actually yelling. Her pretty curls from earlier were drooping, and that smile was most definitely gone without a trace. Prince Charming was nowhere to be seen, and I looked on with unconcealed glee.

"That's just completely off the point," Weasel said back weakly. "Harry,"

Granger rounded on Potter, who had a fright because of it.

"Where have you been?" she shouted. His mouth was gaping like he was a fish out of water. She didn't let him finish, let alone start. "Nevermind! Off to bed, both of you!"

"They get scary when they get older..." the redhead mumbled whilst he and Potter ran up the stairs like cowards. Tears were pooling at the corner of Granger's eyes.

"Ron, you spoil everything!" she shrieked. She might have even said more, but I missed it as the wrath left her body and she crumpled to marble. She kicked off her heels and cradled her head in her shaking hands.

Someone had clipped those butterfly wings before I did, and I was… jealous. That's what it had to be. I was jealous that someone had stolen my thunder yet again.

I cleared my throat and took a step towards her, adamant that I wouldn't be won out.

"Midnight already?" I asked, beaming through the envy in my chest. Because there was no other explanation for what I was feeling. None. Granger's hands wretched from her weeping face.

"Pardon?" She looked perplexed, an expression she seldom wore. Mines must have been the last voice she expected to hear. The low light somehow shone on her shiny cheeks.

"I said –"

She shook her head and lifted her hands in exasperation, as if to ward me off. "Get stuffed, Malfoy. I'm already crying. What more do you want?"

What more did I want? It was a decent question. She had always been good at asking decent, though sometimes roundabout, questions.

"It's not fair," I said. She looked up so earnestly that I paused. Her eyes were glistening with... hope? What that the word for it? It was like she thought for a moment that I might bemoan the fact that Weasel was an inconsiderate git and Potty was nothing more than a figurehead with a rotten temper. As much as I agreed, I wasn't going to actually _agree_ with her. Who was she mistaking me for? "I didn't even get to hex you yet."

The band suddenly got louder.

 _"No, don't let..."_

Her laugh rung out like bells.

 _"This magic die..."_

Bells that clashed with the last dance.

 _"Oh the answer's there..."_

I thought she'd never stop.

 _"Oh just look in her eyes..."_

"I bloody hate you," she wheezed, between bouts of chuckles. My brow knotted even more.

"And I, you," I assured her, in case she had forgotten. I was sure she was now crying not because Weasel hurt her feelings but because she was laughing at me so hard. And for what? What did I say?

"At least some things never change."

She stood and dusted off the seat of her dress, still wiping the mirth from her face.

Granger turned away from me before I could gather myself and demand to know the joke. She only made it a few steps before she looked back, lips opened like she was going to say something. She must have thought better of it because she continued up like she was late for her pumpkin chariot. A hand was pressed to her mouth to smother her giggles.

My skin felt hot again. What was so _bloody_ funny?

"Girls," I muttered. There was no use figuring them out.

My foot knocked against something on the way out but I caught myself on the banister just before the floor met my face. I straighten up quickly, lest someone saw me. The irony of me falling instead of Granger would be too much to bear if there were witness. When I checked, Longbottom and the Weaslette were embracing on the dance floor, absorbed in their own little world as the band's final notes danced around their temples.

Shoes. The Mudblood left her shoes.

I left them too, figuring that if they were that important she'd come back for them. I did not think about those charcoal heels whilst I navigated the dungeons. And I most certainly did not consider going back for them. No, that would be ludicrous beyond measure.


End file.
